Tireless is time, we know.
Transient is each second.
Today, yesterday’s child,
Travels twice round the clock.
Transition, it likes most.
Timepieces stop for none.
Ticktocking they move on.
From my door in a lovely town,
I look straight ahead in wonder,
clouds, seascape, distant boat,
are core of an early morning view,
a homely place now awakening,
the sound of each window heard,
people sense this charmed spot,
has depth, magic, and mystery,
which is such an attraction say,
as the day of passage in sunlight,
a green and brown leaf exponent,
from tree top towered ring fence,
on blissful watch as passersby,
aware of sage eager eco eye,
that glances o’er round the clock,
plot, play, pursuit, and presage.
of an urban gathering on purpose,
with infectious soul stepping forward,
in directions of a wonder world dream,
which at this point has only begun
A Nasty Germ*
A nasty germ is what I am,
a curse to every man and woman.
I lie in wait with strategy
to bring you down to misery.
I’m at my nastiest on the weekend
when I land you bedridden
with round the clock medication
which you take with detestation.
But take courage, hope’s dawning –
I’m gone by Monday morning.
*(Based on my rendering of Christian Morgenstern’s
poem Der Schnupfen (The Sniffle)
This here is the thing. It is indicated
By a signal coming from a source,
Questioned by a desire for validity,
Soaking in a pool of vapour.
Language gives a structure
To imaginary fabrication
Whose existence is assumed
Quite without substantiation
Concrete metaphors convince
Whomsoever desires conviction;
These are entities vibrating
Autogenic deification.
Vine leaves winding round the clock hands
Are interpretations of time’s change
Like the lengthening shadows
Engaging the heat of the day
But once the night stars
Withdraw their spark into themselves
It is all over
Bar the wailing.
Suddenly a face in the mirror stares back,
You're growing old...silver hairs in black.
Evening twilight fades into a dark night.
Why do colours no longer look bright?
With small dark rings under sunken eyes
the peach sunset, is just a weary sunrise.
Taut cheeks drooping, wrinkles everywhere
Carefree youth abandoned to old-age care.
Life keeps melting like a flickering candle,
a new generation, my wisdom can't handle.
Fatigue of arthritis, a feeble body groans,
dull senses slow down, time eroded bones.
I no longer find people to sit and talk,
nothing new happens round the clock.
Crevices and corners I can no longer reach
I change the ways of thoughts and speech.
Rejoicing the memories of low and high tides,
a vast field is visible where the horizon hides.
Decrepit days and months turn lonely years,
in doorways of nostalgia, future disappears.
I am again a child, longing to jump and play
my soul grows stronger, on every birthday.
To attain quietude,
first things first, thoughts must cease,
that thus, free from desire,
wayward ego’s consigned
to the funeral fire.
To attain quietude,
nonchalant to outcomes,
present in the moment,
staid stillness invokes grace;
bliss magnetism potent.
To attain quietude,
round the clock, all the time,
our choice of cessation,
epitomises our
soul’s orientation.
To attain quietude,
shifting from head to heart,
truth search prioritised,
be assured oh hermit,
God will be realised.
Our love isn't a mime, nor a rhyming song,
But one we sing that stings with grief and shame.
A robe we wear with sorrow all night long,
Our hearts no longer with passion's flame.
The ripened time prepares to draw us wide,
Our bond not stronger than a weathered stone.
We stumble, yet let silence be our guide—
Love suffers round the clock, but stands alone.
Still, old age cannot steal what friends endure,
The sign still swirls within each rising breeze.
It brings a comfort quiet and so sure—
A vow that in our minds will never cease.
Our children's glow revives the love we knew,
Their presence paints our friendship warm and true.
I’ve barely started to walk, feet ache
still figuring out how to make a poem.
Some lines come easy while some stuck
but I keep running round the clock.
Each day might pull me a different way
some soft with hope and some hard to say.
But if I show up with a heart in hand
I’ll find my voice and learn to stand.
Each step I take a day
Leads me home, a place I'd like to be
Hurdles may come I know, never will I sway
For I know each step adds to the true me.
You promised love whatever the weather,
That you will be with me without a break,
In the hardest storm we'll be together.
That there's nothing you won't do for my sake.
You even said you'd die if I leave you.
So you filled my heart with love to its brim
And you made me to love you through and through.
But now the light of our love has gone dim.
Like sand hills are scattered by a strong wind.
Our hearts now belong to two new strangers.
Your love, you have decided to unwind.
You now leave my feelings in grave dangers.
Now your "for better for worse" love doesn't talk.
You have stopped that love you gave round the clock.
Driving along steel on the road
look in the mirror
salt falls from my load
Moving just as swift as I can
Look at me
I'm the snow plow man
Snow piles high as it moves off my plow
push back corners
the kids scream WOW
working round the clock all through the night
Clearing the roads
With determination an might
Road to road as fast as I can
Look at me
I'm the snow plow man
They, who are readily and always available;
Checking if your vital signs are stable.
They work round the clock with lives in their hands.
Carrying out nature's most delicate command.
They go into the surgical room without an iota of fear,
Bringing the much needed hope and chasing away despair.
The surgical robe, a garment light as a feather;
Worn by the doctors, heavy as a boulder.
ECG steadily beeping, ECH continuously whooshing,
They are intricately focused, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they are perspiring.
The nasal cannal steadily pumping oxygen into the patient’s nostrils,
Leaving no room for disaster and peril.
They're racing against time, or rather, in a race with the Grim Reaper;
One trying to harvest lives, the other trying to preserve.
They deserve their flowers, a kiss and a thumbs up,
For sticking with us and never giving up.
By;
Solace.
Written December 7, 2024, for contest Sponsored by: Karen Jones
____________________________________
When we lose a lesson, we etch an example on a rock,
Be the alteration you wish to view, all round the clock.
We have a deep link and a prosaic mental stake.
After brittle, we allow what we did not forsake.
We seek worth in this life and deem it divine.
Wind disregards the leaves that fall upon the shrine.
Hearts flutter and linger when you're in sight.
Exuberance refers to its outstanding delight.
The exquisite tapestry radiates light from the inside.
Intertwined strands of the lustrous, silvery guide.
You hope nothing more than my crushed heart.
Would you be willing to bring us back to the start?
Time lends death the echo of silent screams.
Dark whispers back to you ripped from dreams.
I tuck away what I have experienced inside.
When it emerges, we are bound to collide.
The consequences known, foretold for years,
a crushing blow would break the country’s back,
eclipsing the most pessimistic fears,
a devastating night of blackest black…
The zealots would be working ‘round the clock
to mete out punishment to those opposed,
while sheeple, noses pressed to glass, just gawked
’neath red bills lest their faces be exposed.
Impossible as it might seem to most,
the world did spin much like the day before,
though once the quakes were dampened on the coasts,
it tilted to the right a little more.
Go hug your neighbor, whether loss or win;
In four short years, we do it all again!
You lead the park but scare no sheep,
An ewe went astray while you sleep,
Why weren't you on call round the clock?
To care for and protect the flock.
Your meow is just too soft a bleep,
No shepherd rules you could just keep.
How will you keep away the fox?
When your greed desires too the cocks.
The sadness you caused is too deep,
I will have to sell you off cheap.
You made my farm be on the rocks,
Sorrow is what you have in stocks.
You are proud to be a blacksheep,
Your joy is to see others weep.
At your foolishness, the dogs mock,
Who will wake me up from this shock?
Walt Disney said that
living happily ever
after ~ is a lie
people who marries
for money will always know
how your future ends
does a royal flush
beat a full house ~ yes ~ also
a loaded Lugar
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